Fresh Blood (A Death in The Family)
by nightwing1511
Summary: As Batman falls further and further from the light, a new hero steps up to fight for Gotham's future, and a wandering son returns home. I'm updating this one with the newly polished, remixed chapters, as I'm just not happy with the old ones.
1. Chapter 1

**'Straighten up. **Keep off my radar. That shouldn't be too hard, right, Tim?'

'Of course, sir.'

Principal Pollack leant forward in his seat, resting his folded arms on the desk. The room was too clean. Sterile. The diplomas and awards on the wall behind him were evenly spaced in matching chrome frames, but everything else looked like it had come from a government surplus store.

'Then I think we're done. If you don't mind, Tim, I have some paperwork to go over with your parents.'

Tim ran his hand back through his short black hair and made his way out of the office. He closed the door and leant against it.

'Mr Drake was it? Someone from the student rep committee will be here soon to show you around.' Curiously, the secretary spoke without looking up or even slowing down her keystrokes. That was impressive.

'He's a good kid. He's just... distracted.' His father's voice was muffled through the door, but discernible.

'I understand, Jack. Young men sometimes have trouble focusing, or prioritising. But honestly, Tim is going to be on thin ice here. Given his record, if he doesn't pull himself together-'

'Hi, I'm Stephanie.' He'd missed her approach, but there was no missing her now. The smiling face, framed by bright blonde hair, was perhaps a little too close to his own for Tim's liking. Her eyes were a similar shade of green to his.

_Weird._

'Welcome to Burnley High! They've asked me to show you around.' Her voice was perky and loud. Like a hamster on coffee.

He followed her, not really paying attention as she vomited information about the debate team and the volleyball squad. She was tall, for a girl. She must have just come from Gym; she was wearing a short, pleated, maroon skirt and white polo shirt, rather than the school's hideous lemon yellow shirt and maroon tie. Her hair looked somehow nicer than normal hair. Puffier, or something. Tim shook his head, and wondered how much longer it would be until they reached the classroom.

The tour was pointless. There was a map in the student diary they'd mailed out, and his near-eidetic memory recalled it in perfect detail.

She'd stopped walking, and was staring at him, as if expecting an answer.

_Damn, forgot to listen._

'Sorry, didn't catch that last bit.'

'I said, don't you think it's important to make friends?'

'Oh, yeah. Friends.' He took a breath, and coughed loudly. 'Look Stephanie, I appreciate you showing me around like this, but I think I've got it from here.'

'No, that's ok. I'm in your class, so we're heading in the same way anyway.' Her hair seemed to shine more when she smiled.

_Magic hair? Get a hold of yourself, Drake._

'Ok. Thanks, I guess.'

The day dragged on, and Tim waited impatiently for the final bell. Stephanie had made it her mission to make sure he made it safely to each class. He spent the final period staring at the clock while his math teacher lectured on some principle that nobody was listening to. The bell went, and the classroom emptied. Tim followed the crowd outside, where a line of school-busses began to fill.

Tim walked away from the busses, around the corner. A black Chrysler sedan was waiting for him, and a stranger sat at the wheel. The man had short dark hair, dark sunglasses, and wore a black suit. One of his Mother's assistants, Tim guessed.

_Great. It looks like I'm being driven home by the secret service._

'Your mom asked me to take you home today, kiddo.'

He dropped into the back seat and silently pondered his parents' absence as his mother's crony drove to their house on the outskirts of town.

The Drake Estate was a two storey family home nestled among the mansions and three-car-garage mini-mansions on the mainland side of the Gotham River. Bristol, the swanky, low density residential area was home to old-money millionaires, captains of industry, and high-end public servants with no time to spend their money on anything but extravagant houses and expensive cars. Overlooking the ocean, and covering almost as much ground as the rest of the properties together, Wayne Manor rested majestically at the top of the hill.

The Drakes had moved there from Metropolis after Jack, Tim's father, inherited the house from his father. The house had been old when they first moved in; Tim remembered the squeaky floorboards and boarded windows. On his visits home he saw the house slowly renovated. Tim had gone to school at the prestigious Brentwood Academy, a private boarding school in Burnside, the growing suburb just west of the Gotham River. He lived in the dorms during the week, but went home on weekends. Each week he saw a new room of the mansion stripped out and rebuilt.

The lavish home was uncommonly quiet as Tim entered the foyer and dropped his school bag by the door to his study. He followed his stomach to the kitchen, and made a quick sandwich. As he chewed into the piece of turkey wrapped in wholegrain bread, he spotted a scrawled note on the table.

"Tim,

Going out of town for a few days.

Will call soon.

Love you,

Mom and Dad."

Tim's frowned as he read the message. It was definitely his mother's handwriting, but it wasn't her voice in the note. Something was off.

His gut instinct was right. Tim's parents never came home. A few weeks into their absence, about the time he was starting to worry, a package appeared at his front door. It was too early in the morning for the post, and it was unmarked, which meant hand delivered. He tore open the satchel, discovering a DVD inside. It was also unmarked, save for a small post-it note stuck to one face.

"Play me."

He sat in front of his computer quietly after the message had ended. He stared into the blank screen for so long he lost track of time. When he shook himself into movement, it was late afternoon. He wiped tears from his face and went to the kitchen. He took the note, still sitting on the counter-top, and pinned it to the crowded corkboard in his study. He needed help. Tim needed to find Him soon.

The light was bright in his face. A drip of drool from his chin dribbled onto his chest. Around him, his classmates were all staring.

'You've decided to join us, Mr Drake?'

'Uh, I was um… just resting my eyes?'

'And snoring.'

The classroom laughed. Tim yawned.

'Now that your eyes are rested, perhaps you can tell us all about Kepler's laws of planetary motion. You obviously know all about them, given that you've clearly got better things to do than listen to me.'

She looked pointedly at his notebook, and the squiggled drawings of circus acrobats with capes.

'Sorry, Miss Bertinelli, I had a paper due first period this morning. I didn't sleep much.'

The tall, slender lady in front of him stepped back.

'Now remember to read chapter 12, thanks folks. I'll see you all tomorrow. Class dismissed. Tim, a word?'

_Great._

The classroom emptied quickly. Tim kept his seat. When the classroom was empty, she perched herself on the desk in front of him. She was young, for a teacher. Probably her first gig out of college. And from the look of her outfit, he guessed it wasn't her only job. She was probably moonlighting as a bartender in the city. There was no way she could afford designer shoes of that quality on a teacher's salary.

'Tim, I don't know what to do. I mean, you've only been here, what, two weeks, but you're late to every class, when you show up at all. And then you sleep through the lecture anyway. I don't know how they ran classes at Brentwood, but here we like you to be at least conscious.'

'I already said, Miss, I had a late night.'

'Yes, but it seems like you're having a lot of those. Is everything alright at home?'

Tim stood up.

'The orbit of every planet is an ellipse with the Sun at one of the two foci.

A line joining a planet and the Sun sweeps out equal areas during equal intervals of time.' He smirked, grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

'Tim that's not th-'

He let the door snap shut behind him. He slipped on his silver, mirrored sunglasses as he shouldered his backpack. He didn't have time for her amateur psychology. She couldn't help. Nobody here could.

The afternoon was hot and humid, and Tim could feel the afternoon storm coming, even from inside the halls of Burnley High School. The bell rang, and the halls filled with babbling and shoving. Tim made a quick beeline for the nearest door. The summer sun was harsh, and the thick, black clouds were working their way slowly across the sky. He waved down a cab and scooted into the back seat.

'Tim!' The call came just before he closed the door. A scrawny redhead, was skittering across the carpark towards him. Ives had been Tim's friend since the boys had been in elementary school.

'Heading home Tim? Wanna split the cab?'

'Sorry Ives, gotta meet Dad in the city. Hey, I'll see you tomorrow?'

'A'ight Timbo. Don't forget we've got that history quiz second period tomorrow.'

'Yeah, thanks. Catch ya!'

He pulled the door shut. When Tim had been at Brentwood, Ives had been a near perfect student. But without Tim, it seemed his focus had shifted. He never talked about what, but something had happened, and Ives had been kicked out of the illustrious school. Tim never asked too many questions; he was glad to see a friendly face at Burnley High.

'So, the City?' The cabby asked.

Tim shook his head.

'Drake Estate, Bristol.'

The cabby thought about it for a second, but nodded as he pulled out. Tim pulled his cellphone from his pocket, and flicked through news articles as the cab wove through Gotham.

'Just drop me at the gate, buddy. No need to drive up to the house.'

The cab pulled to a stop on the white gravel. Tim paid the driver and pulled himself out of the car. The rain started to spit as he made his way up the drive. He ducked into the foyer just as the downpour struck. The door wasn't locked. It never was anymore. Tim dropped his bag as he walked into his study. He pulled up the chair to his computer and slumped himself into it. There were no new videos or news on the sites he frequented. Nothing on the news, and no new police reports. He lent back in his chair and stared up at the mess of photos, news clippings and scribbles on paper pinned to a corkboard.

"Bat Watch", they called themselves. A group of anonymous internet users who made it their hobby to follow The Batman, and post poor quality videos, blurry photos, and wild speculation at every opportunity. Tim had contributed a few photos, but nothing good. He kept the best ones for his own files.

Gotham was full of skeptics, and despite a handful of confirmed sightings, some photos, and even police reports, most didn't buy into the stories about a caped vigilante who prowls the rooftops, protecting citizens from muggers and murderers. Tim had seen him in action, though. Batman, who most stories painted as an 8 foot tall, monster with wings and fangs, was merely a man in a mask and cape. A small number made it their mission to discover Batman's identity. Tim, however, knew that The Batman had three allies. Until last year, anyway. Two had been killed in the gang war that had nearly consumed the city last year. Tim knew that if he was to discover The Batman's secret, finding out who was on his team was just as important.

One of them was definitely a woman and the other two were much younger, school age evn. He had scoured every image, every video, and spied on way too many police radio conversations.

The first partner had worn a red tunic, green armour, with a yellow cape. Not exactly urban camouflage. Some eyewitnesses had heard The Bat call him "Robin", and the way he moved it was no surprise. He must have had some pretty amazing training to fly the way he did. Probably a gymnast.

Later, the woman had made appearances, her colour palate was set in blues and purple, distinguishing her from The Batman's black. She was slender, too, and tall. She moved like a gymnast too, and a good one at that. Tim had played with some pretty serious sound editing software to clean up a recording, and heard Robin referred to her as "Batgirl".

Two years ago, Robin had started wearing black and blue. He started going by "Nightwing" and stopped working with Batman. But then Batman took a new sidekick, but this Robin wore darker green, and a black cape. He was a lot more aggressive than the others, and less acrobatic. He hadn't lasted long.

After the Joker went to war with the GCPD, Batgirl and Robin had disappeared. At first Tim had thought they had just been less conspicuous, but after over six months, he was starting to have his doubts. Combined with Nightwing relocating to Blüdhaven, and Batman becoming more violent and uncontrolled, he was almost certain that the junior vigilantes had been killed.

Tim stood up from his desk, and sat on the floor. He watched the news on the TV across the room as he did crunches, then push ups. He was an accomplished hacker and a skilled programmer, had studied taekwondo, jujitsu and hapkido and taught himself to throw shurikens with brutal efficiency. When he should have been doing homework for school, he had instead studied forensic principles, chemical and fingerprint analysis and ballistics. Once he cracked the Batman's identity, he would join his crusade. A new team was what he needed. Without his partners, Batman had started taking more risks, and seemed to be pushing himself that much harder. Before the Joker, Batman had been untouchable. Lately he was taking a beating each night, whilst dealing out his own beatings to any criminals or gangs he encountered. He was burning himself out.

The news blathered on about things Tim couldn't pay attention to. He finished his workout, and sat back at his desk. A notification was waiting, one of his Bat Watch forums.

"_New Video – Batman in Blüdhaven_"

_Idiots. Clearly not Batman, there's no cape. _He watched as a shadowy figure engaged a trio in an alley. The footage was shot from a cell, so the quality was appalling.

Tim clicked reply. "_It's not Batman. Batman wears a cape._"

His mouse hovered over the post button as he watched the video again. Nightwing dodged the gunfire of one bad guy with a cartwheel, and disabled another with a kick. He sprung off a derelict car and caught the fire escape above him. He swung back, and flung himself into the air, pulling a perfect triple tuck, finishing with a kick square to the final gunman's chest. He fired some sort of grappling hook into the air, and was gone. The whole video was only 23 seconds long, but it was enough.

Tim held the backspace key, deleting his message.

He didn't need to post anything. He'd solved it.

He knew who Batman was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Barbara Gordon tapped the keyboard. **Four huge screens in front of her jumped to life, bathing her in white light. Around her the deep expanse of the cave loomed. She nudged her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. Across the monitors, information danced; news reports, police calls, even weather reports. An even larger screen to her left blinked to life, displaying a number of case files marked 'pending'. Everything they might need.

'Oh, Alfred. I love what you've done with the place.' Barbara sighed contentedly as she wheeled around to face him. The old man smiled. He certainly looked his age tonight, his pencil moustache and thinning hair amplified by the sunken bags under his eyes. He looked tired.

'It's about time really. I was starting to wonder if I'd ever have dry feet again. Master Bruce hasn't said much, but I suspect he likes he walkways too.'

Bruce never said much anymore. Not since Jason. And not since...

He'd told her it would be too dangerous, but she'd survived the warehouses with only a few cuts and bruises. It was her home where the danger really lurked...

Barbara shook the memory away. That was her old life. She was starting new. New house. New job. And yet she was back in the cave.

She navigated her wheelchair away from the computer bank, and steadily made her way across the path to the armoury. Once a series of concrete paths and stairs decades old and prone to flooding, Alfred had rebuilt the walkways in raised steel, complete with safety rails, lights and ramps instead of stairs. Some things remained the same. Bruce's mismatched collection of trophies and mementos were still scattered about; the glass case memorialising Dick's and Jason's sets of armour stood proudly in the darkness.

The computer bank was new, replacing the single machine that resided there six months ago. The pin boards, blackboards and desks covered with file after file were gone, replaced with magnetic whiteboards, and a huge server rack crammed full of drives. The centre of the cave finally looked like the lair of a tech-genius vigilante. It had spent a decade too long looking like the base of operations from a 1970's cop show.

Three paths jutted out from the central platform. The shortest, jutting across a chasm to the right, opened up to the armory. An armour rack held sets of armour that once belonged to Dick, red breasted with a proud 'R'. Barbara's own sets of armour, blues, greys and purples, emblazoned with golden bat silhouettes, hung next to Bruce's battle gear. This platform was the largest in the cave, and also shot off into a small, well equipped med bay, a target range, gym, and sparring dojo.

Another catwalk snaked down, underneath the computer. This space was filled with workbenches and tools, prototypes of new gadgets hung from the walls and filled the shelves. A single touch screen was suspended above the centre bench, currently showing a section of blueprint, left over from the last time it had been used. A walkway spurred away to an elevator, leading to the mansion above.

A set of stairs led down from the computer bank to the staging area for the Batman's primary mode of transport. "The Car" more closely resembled a tank. Built from scratch, the chassis had originally resembled an SUV, but between them Bruce and Alfred had put in over two hundred hours of mods and upgrades. The leviathan housed a rocket thruster in the rear end, and was swamped in so much armour it looked like something off the sci-fi channel.

A stretch of tarmac reached out towards one opening of the cave, disappearing through the waterfall that concealed the mouth. The Car wasn't on the turntable now, it almost never was lately. Bruce spent every hour between sundown and sunrise hunting. In the old days, they'd called it "patrolling", but since Jason's death The Batman wasn't keeping protective watch over the innocent of Gotham. He was hunting the scum and villainy and punishing them with extreme prejudice.

She and Bruce had developed so many of their tools and gadgets together. They'd been a family once. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred had been as close to her as her parents. Very few people knew about the activities of "The Batman" and his team. Nearly half of them were in the cave at that moment.

Her father, the GCPD Commissioner of Police, had some idea. He didn't know that she was involved, though. He'd never let her out after dark again if he had known.

Dick knew who they were, but he'd been part of it for longer than she had. Robin. Barbara stared towards the glass display where Dick's old armour hung, a tribute to the son who left the nest. Bruce hated it being there, but Barbara knew he'd never convince Alfred to take it down. Next to it was another memorial set of armour, torn and broken, resting above a podium that simply read "A Good Soldier".

But like her real family, everything had fallen apart. Her father's affair with another police detective had driven her mother and brother away, back to Chicago. Barbara had said she'd stayed because of school, but the truth was she had been closer to Jim. And besides, he needed her. His long, irregular shifts meant without her to look after him, he'd probably live on bran flakes and two minute noodles.

When Bruce and Dick had their final argument, she'd once again stayed where she was most needed. Bruce, she'd reasoned, required allies to aide in his crusade. What Dick needed was time alone. He'd told her so and yet still took offence to her staying with Bruce. If he was the sort of person who talked about his feelings, maybe things would have been different.

Barbara wheeled around to face Alfred once more. He was busying himself adjusting the trigger pressure on one of the grapples. He really was a jack of all trades. In addition to being Bruce's valet, and valet to Dr Thomas Wayne before him, Alfred was a fantastic cook and an accomplished engineer. An ex-army doctor, he also doubled as The Batman's medic, and in the old days, coordinated the team from the cave.

'Thanks again for breakfast. It's good to be back.'

'You're very welcome,' he replied, remaining as British as possible through the warm, heartfelt smile, 'Shall I walk you out? Your taxi should be arriving soon.'

'It's alright, Alfred, you're busy. I'll see you tonight.' With a wave, she turned and headed to the lift.

Emerging from behind the clock in Bruce's study, Barbara blinked at the morning light flooding in. It was a crisp summer morning, and the day ahead looked promising. She navigated the halls of the sprawling mansion, making her way through the front door as the cab Alfred had summoned pulled up in the drive.

The city of Gotham was built across a collection islands. The south-most, Burnley, was the site of a huge residential development; apartment buildings were slowly expanding to cover the island. These were, for the most part, built right over the top of the old commercial buildings that made up the site of the original city. The north-east shore of the island was dotted with docks and warehouses.

New Gotham stood across the bridge to the northern islands. The New Gotham CBD was an odd mixture of old and new, and was seemingly under constant redevelopment. The cityscape ranged from small office blocks to large skyscrapers in the centre of town and was essentially one huge construction site. Huge skyscrapers at varying stages of completion peppered the skyline. At the very centre, Wayne Tower stood as a monument to the family that had saved the city in the Great Depression. The three main islands were close to equal size. Kane Island, named for another prominent family in the city's history, was largely commercial, but was home to the city's densely populated China Town district. Founders island had a more industrial feel, and the majority of the city's northern dock land districts were built around the coast. Miagani Island, named after an indigenous tribe from the area, was full of huge apartment buildings, as well as Robinson Park, a huge green beacon in the heart of the concrete jungle.

South of Burnley, Old Gotham, was built on the mainland, and was the home to huge corporate headquarters, overpriced hotels and busy shopping malls. Called Old Gotham, this part of the city was newer than Burnley, but pre-dated the city's sprawl to the New Gotham islands.

Gotham University, nestled near the centre of Miagani Island, was one of the city's oldest buildings. Built in the early twenties, it had survived the numerous fires, floods and other disasters that seemed to plague the ever changing metropolis. Across the street from Gotham's Robinson Park, the University was in truth made up of four buildings of varied ages, with a small park in the middle, but the main building was the one people paid attention to.

Barbara stared out the window of the third floor lecture hall, as her students drizzled out. History of Literature mustn't have been a favourite topic; they looked like zombies. As one last young woman brushed through the door, Barbara let out a sigh. She gathered up her things, and was midway through the game of Tetris that was her handbag when a woman in a fancy suit appeared in the doorway. Laurel Lance was tall and lean, with her long blonde hair pulled back in a tight no-nonsense ponytail, and a takeaway coffee in each hand.

'You look like you need this.' She grinned, handing Barbara the steaming travel cup.

'I'll bet.' She sipped the coffee and smiled.

'We still on for lunch, hon?'

'I'm starving. Where should we eat?'

The afternoon sun cast beautiful shadows across the city's gothic skyline. Barbara sipped her latte and smiled. Lunch had been a hit, and had turned into lunch and gelato. It was now at lunch and gelato and coffee.

Laurel had made returning to the real world that much smoother. They'd had fairly regular lunch dates in the weeks since. She'd been thankful for her; it was nice to have a friend near her own age. Her high school life had been very disjointed. Graduating at 15 hadn't left much time for friends. In the old days, she'd had Dick. But these days, she wasn't even sure he'd answer if she called him.

A harsh tone exploded from Laurel's cellphone and she stood up and slipping it into her jacket pocket. 'Sorry Babs, I gotta dash. Got a thing. Where did the afternoon go?'

'Yes, go. Save the city, big shot lawyer. I'll call you, later.' She leant back in her chair and soaked in the delicious sunlight, before taking a resentful glance at her watch. It was almost time for her to get to her next class. She only had one more to get through for the day. She drained what was left of her coffee, picked up her bag and headed back to work.

Barbara wheeled slowly into the lift and pushed the button for the 14th floor. After the accident Bruce had offered that she come to live at the mansion, but living all the way out of the city would have been near impossible for her.

She and her dad been touch and go after the shooting. Her dad got lucky; the bullets managed to miss everything important. She hadn't been so fortunate. A slug had damaged her spine, totally paralysing her from the waist down. When she'd been released from the hospital, and resolved to move into a place of her own, Bruce had helped set her up with a modest apartment near the centre of town. Jim had hated the idea, and argued long and hard that she should stay where he could look after her. She loved him, but in that moment, she'd wanted to slap him. She'd faced off against some of the most notorious criminals Gotham had ever seen, and he wanted to look after her?

The old clock tower had been a feature of Kane Island since the city's boom in the 50's. Once housing only maintenance access for the huge clock on the top of the building, her loft was everything she needed. She had a modest bedroom, and a nice living area lined with bookshelves and a small kitchen. Within convenient proximity to everything she could need, Barbara would have been hard up finding a better place in the city.

She rolled into the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea and settled herself on the couch. It'd been a long day, but it was good to be back to a normal life. Well, mostly normal.

As the evening stretched on, and the cheesy soaps gave way for gritty detective shows, Barbara yawned and dropped her mug in the sink. She pulled on a jacket, and turned out the lights. The glass face of the giant clock let in the moonlight, casting eerie shadows across her home.

She set herself in the centre of the room, cleared her throat and then spoke softly, but deliberately.

'Clock Tower. Authorize, Oracle.'

She looked around as giant shutters slid closed over the clock face. Lights popped to life, and her bookshelves slowly ascended, revealing a computer bank identical to the one in the Cave hummed to life. Almost identical; this one had an espresso machine set next to the left hand monitor.

_Alfred always remembers the important things._

Near the centre of the room, a series of screens set into a tabletop glowed patiently. Another bookshelf slid away to reveal an armoury off beyond to the left. To the right, a similar door opened into a gym.

_A home away from home?_

She took her spot in front of the computer bank, set the waiting headset to her ear, and took a deep breath.

'Welcome, Oracle.' The computer chimed in haunting, computerised tones adapted from Barbara's own voice.

A myriad of files and windows splayed across the screens.

'Good to have you back.' A gravelled voice whispered across the speaker. 'And just in time. I need you to run a search on a Lester Petrovic, and all known associates. And fast, he's a person of interest in a murder investigation.'

'Good to be back, boss. Database is searching.' Her fingers danced across the keys, and the search pinged. 'You're in luck. Petrovic was ticketed this evening for running a light. He's in Burnley. File says he's a regular at My Alibi.'

'I hate that bar. I'll head over now. Keep poring over those files. Cave, are you on channel?'

'Sir?' The old butler's voice was rather alert for this late in the evening.

_Does he ever sleep?_

'I want you to look into the victim, Miguel Pérez. When I'm finished with Petrovic, I'm going to need to know them better than family.' He was breathing heavily. Already on the move.

'Quite so, sir.'

'Gotcha, boss.' She went to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**'Grayson and Flores, cover the south door!'**

'Yessir!'

The two detectives broke off from the rest of the group, jogging down the alley to the left. As they approached, Dick slowed and bought his sidearm up, trained on the door. His partner, Detective Catalina Flores, ducked forward quickly and pressed herself against the wall of the small, three story apartment building. She tested the door with her left hand. It was locked. Dick reached for his two-way radio.

'Back door is secure. We're going in.'

'Negative, Grayson. Hold there for now.'

Dick stepped behind a dumpster for cover, keeping his SIG Sauer 9mm pistol aimed squarely at the door. The pair stood poised; Dick caught his breath, and waited.

Cat's olive skin and deep brown eyes might've been considered beautiful, if she wasn't a colleague. She was on the small side, as police officers went, almost completely swallowed by her Kevlar vest. Her expression made up for it, though. She almost always looked like she was ready to kill a man. Nobody gave her trouble, even in the rough neighbourhoods. Dick, on the other hand, was tall and broad. He'd been an athlete since before he could remember. Wearing Kevlar, he looked like a soldier ready for battle. Unfortunately, part of that look required him to cut his hair short.

Mealtide Park was one of those suburbs that had sprawled too quickly for proper infrastructure to keep up. Boarded up windows and condemned buildings were a common sight. Too many people, not enough police. This building was old. Probably just barely up to code. The majority of the neighbourhood seemed on the verge of falling down.

After an eternity, their two-ways crackled to life.

'Grayson, Flores. Second floor. Apartment two seventeen.'

Dick moved quickly, and nodded once. Cat stepped away from the wall, training her Glock 19 on the door. Dick let go with a solid kick, and the door flew open. He took a deep breath and stepped into the building.

The floorboards creaked with each step. Cat followed close behind him. He found the stairs and headed up. He paused at the top of the landing, and waited for her to catch up. They stood for a second, back to back.

'This way.' She took the lead and headed down the hall. Moving smoothly, she slowed slightly at each door before moving to the next.

'Found it.' She hissed. 'Two seventeen.'

She flattened against the wall and looked to the right, towards the slightly ajar door. He nodded, and pushed through, into the apartment.

"Blüdhaven Police, get on the grou-"

Two police detectives stood in the room with a handful of uniformed officers. Three perps, already handcuffed, knelt by the window.

_Late to the party again._

'Coffee?'

'Yeah, I think I'll need it. Thanks, Dick.'

Dick stepped away from his desk and stretched his arms above his head. He stifled a yawn, and headed to the break room. The Blüdhaven Police Headquarters, where he was stationed, was almost as old as the rest of the city, and from the inside, you could tell. The light fixtures hung lazily from the high, cracked ceiling, and the windows were barred. The detective's bullpen was huge and cold, the break room a stark contrast. It was a small, warm room with a kitchenette and a handful of comfortable couches.

While the machine poured steaming, dark liquid into a cup, he mentally recapped the night's work. The tip had been legit, and the bust had handed them three dealers of a new amphetamine compound that had been responsible for over a dozen OD fatalities in the last month. Unfortunately, a fourth man had got away. The three they caught rolled over, and identified the fourth as their ringleader. There was an all-points bulletin out on Franky Santorum, the missing ringleader.

Dick's role, however, had been almost non-existent. As Nightwing, he could have made that bust alone, but his Captain didn't have quite that much faith in him. Yet somehow, he still ended up with a mountain of paperwork. The perks of being the new guy.

'So where was your friend, today?' Dick set one of the mugs next to Cat's mousepad. 'What do you call him? "Batwing"?"'

'Oh har har. You're gonna make fun of me for that?' She swivelled in her chair to face him. 'I don't care if nobody else believes me, but "_Nightwing_" saved my life.'

Dick tried his hardest to put on a skeptical face. But he knew she was right. One of his first nights in Blüdhaven, he'd found Officer Flores in a dark alley, surrounded by goons. He was still new to working alone, so he might have been a bit dramatic. It was the strangest luck that, on making detective, they'd ended up partners.

'I'm not saying I don't believe you, I'm just asking where this guy is when we're doing actual police work? What, has he got a day job?'

'Maybe he was off saving someone else's bacon. All I know is, I'm glad they're out there. Regardless of whether people believe in them.'

'They?'

'The other ones. The capes from Gotham. My cousin says they've got some over in Star City, too.'

"Capes" was a funny term, and Dick hadn't heard it before. It was much nicer than the regular names they were called. "Outlaw vigilantes", "costumed idiots", "tight wearing freaks". That in mind, he couldn't get too offended that the title wasn't very inclusive.

As Robin he'd worn flashy capes to distract from his lack of physical size. As he'd got older, he'd tried to use them like Bruce had, casting his shadow over a scared enemy, masking his movements to avoid gunfire, and the like. But once he'd struck out on his own, a cape had never felt right. It restricted his acrobatics, felt heavy on his shoulders, and offered something to grab at in a melee. He'd learned that last one the hard way. Nightwing didn't wear a cape.

'I dunno, you really think there's more than one guy crazy enough to dress up in tights and fly around fighting muggers?'

'I do, Grayson. And I think we're very lucky they're out there.'

The wind in his hair, and the lights sprawled out beneath him. This was where Dick belonged. He stepped off the edge, and felt the euphoria of free-fall as the city rushed up to meet him. He saw his target and fired a grapple high into a nearby building. The claw lodged into the concrete like a harpoon. He braced himself as the line snapped taut, swinging in a huge arc.

_Flagpole._

As he flew high into the air, a flick of the trigger on his grapple released the line from the wall. The claw snapped quickly back to the launcher. He tumbled through the air, dropping his grappling-gun to his belt. The magnetic clip snapped the device to his belt, and Dick reached forward with both hands. He grabbed at the flagpole protruding from the side of the building and swung himself up, tucking his legs close to his chest as he summersaulted up the building like a bullet. He landed with perfect form, and spun on the spot.

Santorum had been spotted by police in The Narrows. Dick's own investigation had narrowed down three possible safe houses he could be basing his operation out of. The first two had been a bust, so it had to be this one, right?

He barged through the door to the fire stairs, and vaulted the handrails down the two flights of stairs to the ninth floor. He put his foot through the door to the apartment in question, and drew a round, two-bladed throwing shuriken from his belt. The lights were out, and the room was full of shadow. His eyes flicked around, trying to find Santorum.

A screaming siren passed on the street, and for a second the room flashed red and blue. The shadows moved, and he saw a figure crouching in the darkened corner.

_Gun!_

The man brought up a pistol, but Nightwing was quicker. He let fly with the wing-ding and it struck the gun sharply, the shot struck the ceiling.

_Go._

He leapt across the room and delivered a sharp kick to the man's chest. He fell backwards, collapsing into the corner as the gun skittered across the room. Pressing his knee into the man's chest, Nightwing raised a fist.

'Santorum?'

The man nodded groggily. Dick lashed out with a savage jab, knocking Santorum out cold. With the threat neutralised, Dick turned on the lights. The apartment was an orgy of drug dealing paraphernalia.

_Gotcha._

Nightwing crouched on the ledge of a building across from Santorum's safe house. He watched through binoculars as the Police stormed up the stairs in force and kicked down the door into the apartment.

'Lucky we don't wait for them to do all the work.' He quipped to himself.

They'd found Santorum now, passed out in the shower recess. The spilled shampoo and cracked tile Dick set up seemed to have been enough. They assumed he'd slipped in the shower, and Dick's anonymous tip-off might well have come from a disgruntled business partner, or customer.

He hadn't needed to set up any other evidence. That was already there, in spades. A do-it-yourself meth lab took up most of the bathroom, and a pill press sat on the kitchen bench next to the toaster. There were briefcases full of money and little bags of white powder strewn around the room. It was as if they weren't even trying to pretend it wasn't a drug den. The most interesting thing Dick had found, in his quick assessment of the scene, was a series of letters implicating Anthony Garcia, a hotshot lawyer and aspiring politician in Gotham, as head of the operation. Dick left those letters in the centre of the kitchen table after taking photos for his own files. It wasn't often he got to have a crack at some big-professional type.

Perched above the city, Dick felt alone. In that moment, there was nobody else to celebrate the job well done. Nobody to tease him that she could have done it better. Nobody to blow off steam with in a city wide game of tag.

He missed Barbara. In the old days, they'd been inseparable. Batgirl and Robin had worked well together, and they'd had fun doing it. When they were kids, the whole thing had been a game. The criminals had been a workout, and saving the city was all in a day's work. That had changed with the rise of The Joker. When Bruce forbade them from going after the Clown Prince of Crime, everything got serious. They tried, against Bruce's orders, to take him on. That was when the trouble started. Dick resented Bruce for coddling the two of them like kids. Batman argued that they were kids, and needed his protection. Dick knew he couldn't deal with living in Batman's shadow anymore. So he left. He left the manor, left the city. But Barbara, she stayed. He'd been sure she'd be on his side. After all they'd been through. All they were to one another.

He'd never felt so betrayed.

'Let it go, Grayson.'

'The evidence is there, sir. Right there!' He slapped his hand on the photo and the whole desk bounced. 'Anthony Garcia is in on this. We can take down a man who is _killing_ people! His drugs are causing _deaths_! And we're meant to ignore it? We're meant to let his guys go?'

Chief Delmore Redhorn stood from his chair, his face redder than a beetroot.

'Grayson, I don't know who you think you are, but I won't be yelled at _in my own office!_' The small, tubby man seemed to grow 12 inches taller as he growled. 'Gimme your badge and gun. 6 weeks suspension. With pay.'

Dick threw his SIG and shield on the desk. He turned to leave, but Redhorn wasn't done.

'Grayson, this is my town. We do things my way. You make any trouble about this, and I'll bury you. Is that understood?'

'Yes, _sir._' Dick slammed the door on his way out. He knew it was juvenile, but it still made him feel better. The bullpen continued about their work, seemingly oblivious to the spat that had occurred. He snatched up his wallet and coat, and headed for the door.

Flores saw him and gave chase, stopping him by the elevator. His blood was still boiling, but it wasn't her fault. He tried to put on a smile.

'I'm taking some holiday leave. I'll see you in a couple of weeks.'

'You know, partner, you're a horrible liar. He suspend you?'

'Yeah, I don't wanna talk about it. We can grab drinks this weekend, maybe.'

'Sounds good, Grayson. I'll see you later.'

He slipped into the elevator and pulled on his coat. The long, tan trench coat looked like something out of a bad detective movie, but it sure was warm. And in Blüdhaven, even the summer days got chilly as the sun went down. As Dick hit the street, and his coat started to pay off, a teenage boy approached, waving at him. He turned and walked the other way. Whatever this kid wanted, he wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

'Detective Grayson, I need to talk to you!'

The kid knew who he was. Maybe it was important? He didn't look like trouble.

'Please detective, it's about Nightwing.'

_Oh crap._

Dick stopped dead.

'My name is Tim Drake, detective. And I know your secret.'


	4. Chapter 4

4

**Blüdhaven was a cesspit.** And that was being generous. Just standing in the city made Tim feel like he needed a shower. Blüdhaven was Gotham's cheaper, dirtier cousin. Located 10 miles south of Gotham, it was a port town that had grown too big, and was now dying a slow, cancerous death. Huge industrial centres still thrived, and the population continued to grow against all odds, but the crime rate was stupidly high. The small island district known as "The Narrows" was the home to the biggest narcotics industry this side of Mexico.

Tim felt a wave of relief as the young police detective ushered him into the relative safety of the Police Station, and into an empty waiting room. Detective Grayson looked frazzled. He'd clearly never expected to be found out. He shut and locked the door, drew the blinds, and gestured for Tim to sit. The detective took a seat across from Tim and, obviously trying to keep his voice down, began his line of questioning.

'Tell me what it is you think you know.'

'Detective, if I didn't know something, your response just now would be a bit over the top, don't you think?'

Grayson looked pissed.

_Probably not a good idea to mess with him._

'Okay. I know that you are Nightwing. And don't try to deny it.' Grayson inhaled like he was about to argue, but paused.

'Tim, was it? What makes you think that I'm Batman?'

'I didn't say Batman, detective. I said Nightwing. Nice try though.'

Detective Grayson smirked.

'I know you're Nightwing, because nobody else can move like you do. A few nights ago, you were filmed pulling a triple somersault.'

Grayson's eyes narrowed as he contemplated what Tim had said.

'You might recall, in a past life, the triple tuck was part of your signature move. Do you know how many other people in America can make that move? Can you imagine the odds of any of them being in Gotham?'

'So, you're saying I have to be Nightwing because I used to be one of the world's premier child acrobats?' He was trying to make it sound implausible.

'I'm saying you are still one of the world's premier acrobats.'

Grayson smiled. It was a proud smile.

_Got him._

'Alright, Tim. Let's say you're right. Let's say I'm Nightwing. What do you want out of this?'

'I want to be part of it.' Detective Grayson's face was a mask of disbelief. Tim assumed he was expecting blackmail, or coercion. He stared for a minute.

_That caught him off guard. He's reeling. Don't let up._

'The Batman needs help. And if you're here, that means you don't want to be that help. The Batman needs Robin.'

'And you think y-'

'I want to be Robin.'

'I don't think you know what that means.' Grayson's face had dropped. He was suddenly taking this very seriously.

_Good._

Tim stood and stepped toward the detective.

'I don't know? What don't I know? About the war with the Joker? About the friends you've lost? I know what I'm doing. I've trained for this.'

'Listen, Tim. I know you mean well, but I need you to forget this. It's not happening.' Grayson unlocked the door.

'Nightwing. I'm not going to let this go.'

'Go home, Tim.'

He left the room. Tim sat in the dark for a moment. He'd been sure that if he put all his cards on the table like that, Grayson would have no choice.

_I can't go home._

The target was moving. Tim leapt across the gap and kept running. The man he was tracking stopped in the street. He was talking to someone. But not for long. He headed inside the building.

Tim took some binoculars from his pocket and focused on the foyer. Grayson was in the elevator. The lift travelled to the thirteenth floor. He shifted the binoculars up thirteen floors, and waited a second. A light appeared in a window, and the detective appeared as a silhouette.

He took a grappling hook from his satchel and looped the line in a pile by his feet. He took the grappling hook and played out a foot of line while he scanned for the right target. He twirled the hook in two quick arcs and let it fly.

The grapple soared through the air in a lazy arc. It landed right on target, grabbing tightly to the support frame of a water tower above the building. Tim pulled the line taut and stepped off the edge. He sailed above the streets, and landed almost silently, catlike, with both feet on the fire escape, just outside the window he'd been examining only a minute before.

He waited until Grayson walked into the bathroom. He heard the pipes groan as the shower turned on. Tim pulled a small crowbar from his satchel and jimmied the window open. He replaced the crowbar, and slipped inside. Secluding himself in the darkness, he waited.

Dick Grayson walked out of the bathroom, towel draped loosely around his waist. He walked to the fridge and fished a bottle of milk from the door. He flipped the light on and stopped.

'Detective Grayson. We need to talk.'

Tim sat on the window sill, arms crossed.

'Tim.' Dick put the bottle of milk on the coffee table. 'I guess I need to start locking the window.'

'I'm not going to give this up, detective.'

_I can't._

'I can see that.' Dick laughed. 'Look, even if I wanted to let you in, it's not a decision I can make. I need you to tell me what you know.' Dick sat on the couch, and put his feet up on the coffee table.

'When I was little, my mom and dad took me to the circus, right here in Gotham. I saw The Flying Graysons, and I'll be honest, it was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. The way you and your family moved, man, it was like magic. A couple of nights later, I saw on the news that they'd been killed. Your family, I mean. I'm sorry, by the way.'

Dick nodded, and gestured for Tim to continue.

'Well, I was hooked. I started buying DVDs of circus shows, gymnastic displays, but nothing was as good as you. But the Flying Graysons were gone. Haly's circus was ruined. So I started trawling the 'net for as much footage of your shows as possible. I soaked it up. I memorized your routines. You were my obsession.

'A couple of years ago, Batman and Robin saved me, and my family. We were walking home, and a gang of thugs rounded us into an alley. I'm sure they were going to kill us. They were yelling at my parents to give them their valuables. They had knives; one of them had a gun. There was so much yelling. And then, out of nowhere, Batman and Robin dropped from the roof. They beat the thugs, and we escaped.

'The Batman became my obsession. I wanted to know who he was. Why he saved us. I needed to know. I followed him for years. Every news article, every bit of video I could find and clean up from the 'net. And then I saw it, a video of you, Nightwing, in Blüdhaven. You pulled a triple somersault, and finished with a kick. The technique was there, and the form was flawless. My two obsessions had become one.

'Once I realised that you were Robin, the rest fell into place. Why else would Bruce Wayne, the standoffish businessman, adopt a recently orphaned circus kid? He felt responsible. And the other boy he adopted, Jason. The one killed in a 'skiing accident'? Yeah, right. He was the one who followed in your footsteps. The second Robin. The war with the Joker cost Batman his allies, and left him guilty. That's why he's falling apart now. He needs a team again.'

The pair sat in silence for a minute.

'Tim…'

'I know what you're gonna say, Detective. I know it's dangerous. I know that there's a chance I could get hurt. I understand all that, and I'm still here.'

Dick stood up, and walked into his bedroom. Tim took a deep breath.

The detective re-emerged; he'd pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. He stepped into a pair of moccasins, and picked up his wallet and keys.

'Where are you going?' Tim wasn't giving up, and he didn't want his best chance to get away.

'_We_ are going to Gotham. There's someone you need to meet.'

The train ride back to Gotham was uneventful. The station was underneath Wayne Tower, right in the centre of the city. It was well after sundown, but the city was abuzz. The Tower, as well as most of the buildings in the business district, were still dotted with lights as hundreds of paper-pushers worked late, trying to climb higher up the corporate ladder.

They walked east across the bridge, past the myriad of theatres and playhouses that dotted the Chelsea streets. On the street level, and below, the nightclub scene was alive as well, a throbbing, pulsating mess of light and sound. No matter how far they went, Tim could see Wayne Tower looming over the city. He assumed it was part of the design, the centre point of the city. The Wayne family was nothing if not proud.

'How far?' Tim looked at Dick, but the detective made no move to answer. He'd been almost silent the whole trip. He'd made one brief phone call, but it had been limited to a couple of words. It had seemed uncomfortable.

The front door of the Clock Tower building was open, propped ajar by a phonebook as they approached. Tim followed Grayson as he stepped inside. He moved the phonebook, and let the door latch closed behind them. They moved into the elevator, and as the doors slid shut, the lights went out.

'What happened to the li-' The lift was suddenly bathed in green light. It began to move, going up Tim was certain, but the display showing which floor they were on was blank. The backlights for the buttons were out too. The movement stopped, and the doors slid open. A huge bank of computers took Tim's attention. The buzzing whir of dozens of fans softly filled the air. Sitting at a desk near the middle of the room, a woman with long, auburn hair straightened her titanium framed glasses.

'Mister Drake. Come in.' She looked up from her computer screen and gestured at a seat across from her. 'Have a seat.'

Tim did as he was bid, and sat across from her. Grayson waved, and the woman nodded.

'I talked to him. It's been sorted.'

'Thanks.' He disappeared through a door, to his left.

'Tim, I am Oracle.' She looked him up and down. 'You've just entered into a world of secrets. Before we continue, you need to understand something. If you reveal any of these secrets to anyone, you will simply disappear. Nobody will know to look for you.'

Grayson walked back into the room, now wearing an armoured, black bodysuit, and domino mask. The armour was highlighted by a blue V-shape, stretching from shoulder to shoulder, covering his whole chest.

Tim stared across the table. Oracle met his stare, and held it.

'I don't think I believe you, Oracle.' Dick raised an eyebrow, but Tim continued. 'You're the good guys. I know that. You're not going to hurt me.'

Grayson made a noise that might have been a laugh, or maybe a cough.

'And besides, I could have gone to the media by now. If I was gonna rat you all out, I mean.'

'He's right, Oracle. I trust he'll keep his mouth shut. He's smarter than that.' He'd won over Grayson. Good start.

Oracle took a breath, and squinted ever so slightly. Her gaze was intense, like she was trying to read his mind. 'Tim. I know you're not going to let this go. I understand. I can already see that you're set on this, and I support that.'

'You do?' Nightwing seemed shocked.

'I do. And from what I can find on file, I can tell you're more than capable.'

Tim smirked proudly and leant back in his seat. Oracle looked strangely familiar, and he'd spent most of the meeting so far trying to place her. But in that moment, it all fell into place.

'Batgirl?' Barbara looked shocked, but only for a second. She stayed silent. 'It is you. I thought you were dead.'

'I retired.' She was calm, but Nightwing, standing off to the side, was fidgeting.

'How could you give up something like that?'

'It's complicated.' Dick interjected. 'Tim, it's a long story.'

'It's not that long, or complicated.' Barbara wheeled her chair from behind the desk. She circled to Tim's side.

_Put your foot in it this time, Drake._

'Oh. I didn't realise. I'm so sor-'

'Prove to me that you can follow orders, Tim. And we'll consider bringing you onto the team. And don't be fooled. This is serious business.'


	5. Chapter 5

**The hatch opened to a vantage point above the clock.** Barbara felt the fresh air wash in, as the first of the two armoured figures slipped through the manhole. Dick stopped for a moment and looked over towards her. He took a breath, as though he was about to speak, but then turned and heaved himself through the hatch in the ceiling.

The door snapped shut and Barbara realised she was holding her breath. She let it go with a loud sigh to herself.

'Nice to see you too, Dick.'

She wheeled back over to the computer, and set a headset to her ear. She drummed her fingers on the keyboard, and the screens in front of her blinked to life. Two readouts blipped up on the screen, on an application labelled 'vitals'. The first, a heartbeat, blood pressure, core temperature and respiration readouts for Nightwing. The second was labelled 'little-bird'. On the next screen, on a map of Gotham, a myriad of coloured blips swarmed around the islands. Various police contacts, persons of interest, and taxis had been tagged by the WayneTech satellites in geosynchronous orbit above Gotham. The satellites were part of a next generation communication infrastructure, but Barbara had piggybacked a small module onto each of them, which linked to the cave. In the field, anyone connected to the cave would have real-time HUD updates, facial recognition, and access to Police databases, as well as databases for a few federal agencies.

Barbara liked to be prepared.

Tim had caught her off guard, but she couldn't hold it against him. She'd been just like Tim once, long ago.

'Nightwing, testing secure channel 7.'

'Copy, Oracle. Channel 7 is clear.'

'Little-bird, are you on channel?'

'Not sold on this call sign, Oracle.' The kid had spirit. That was a good sign.

'Okay boys, we've got suspicious activity at a warehouse down on Bay Side. Police have taken a call, but aren't attending yet; they're responding to a siege in the West Village.'

'Anything else? We're across the bridge. Should only be a few minutes til we get to Burnley' They were moving fast, probably hitched a lift on top of a bus. It was good to hear Dick's voice on the comms again. It had been a long time.

'The warehouse is owned by Alberto Falcone.' She admitted.

'Never easy, is it? Going silent. Nightwing, out.'

The comms clicked off, and Barbara sighed again. She sat leant back and Tim's words came back to her.

_How could you give up something like that?_

After she'd fought so hard to get there, it had nearly killed her to accept that she could no longer fight crime on the streets and rooftops of Gotham. She'd found a new place, and a new role, but it would never be the same. It was only six years ago that it had all begun. And on reflection, she could barely recognise the naive and optimistic girl she had been.

She had been following the urban legends for a while. Something was stalking the streets at night, a vigilante, maybe a monster. The police were trying to bring him in, to stop his crusade. Their public statements implied that they didn't appreciate someone doing their job. Barbara knew they were cracking down because they were afraid he'd come after them.

The Gotham City Police Department was about as corrupt as they could get. Commissioner Loeb was well known to be under Carmine Falcone's thumb. The Falcone crime Family were responsible for the majority of the organised crime scene in Gotham. Headed by Carmine 'The Roman' Falcone, they were an offshoot of the old Sicilian Mafia. They ran the drug trade, and had their hands in a number of other rackets including illegal bookmaking, prostitution, and gun smuggling. If another syndicate tried to make a start in the city, the Falcones either bought them out, or wiped them out.

The existence of the Batman threatened to strain the corrupt structure of the city, and that was something that Barbara could believe in. She resolved to meet him, to join him.

She'd already met him once. It was Christmas Eve, the third year since the Batman had first appeared. The city resembled a warzone; Thorne and Falcone soldiers were engaged in a prolonged and expansive shootout across Old Gotham.

Rupert Thorne, once a respected councilman, had raised a mob of his own, to capitalise on the vacuums the Batman's crusade was leaving in the organised crime world. Anywhere the vigilante took out a Falcone operation, Thorne's people moved in. While the Roman was a traditionalist, old-school Mafiosi, Thorne was the beginning of a new breed of organised crime. His followers were without the rules and codes that normally governed crime in the city; nothing was off limits.

The Batman was reportedly sighted at over a dozen of the conflicts that night. The GCPD issued a classified internal memo dictating _The Vigilante, known as The Batman, is to be apprehended on sight._ The majority of the police force wrote it off. The Batman was a ridiculous notion, so it was largely ignored.

But Barbara witnessed the Batman in action. She was hiding out at the GCPD Major Crimes headquarters at South Point. Her dad had insisted that she be there, for her protection. Fortunately, the precinct had a pretty good internet connection, and Jim's credentials gave her an unlimited connection.

She was holed up in the server room, out of everyone else's way, when she saw him. He dropped out of a ceiling vent, and moved so quickly and quietly that she only just caught sight of him. He didn't see her, though. Any other day, the server room would've been deserted and he was focused. He was huge, easily over 6 feet tall. Black and grey body armour encased his body, and a long, black cape shrouded his shape. A black, sculpted mask and cowl covered his head, and most of his face, leaving only a chiselled jawline, firm frown and steely eyes uncovered. He pulled open the cover of a carefully selected server rack, and started working to hook in a device he lifted from his belt.

'That's not going to work.' She didn't know why she said it, but she couldn't help herself. The masked man turned to face her. His eyes narrowed as he spotted her.

'And what makes you think that?' His voice was rough and thick.

'You're trying to bypass the security protocols, and gain remote access to the server?'

He grunted. She took that to mean she was right.

'You'll need to set up a physical bridge on the line into the building. Otherwise you'd still have to be using an internal port.'

'And where would attach a physical bridge?'

She stepped closer, close enough to smell the sweat and smoke. He was breathing heavily; there was blood and grime caked onto his face.

'There's a maintenance hatch in the car park. There's a junction box down there, I think. It's probably locked, but I doubt that'd be a problem for you, would it?'

Barbara thought she saw a smile flicker across his lips, but it might have been a trick of the light. Before she had time to think about it, the sound of footsteps in the hall caught her attention.

'Thank you.' He was gone when she looked back, and his parting words were a mere whisper.

A pair of officers, SWAT from the looks of them, burst into the room, M4 assault rifles raised. They were shouting wildly. Barbara threw her hands above her head and shouted back.

'It's just me, you jerks!'

'Who were you talking to?' They seemed edgy, but lowered their guns all the same.

'Web-chat on my computer. Is that a crime?'

'Sorry, ma'am. You should probably get upstairs, hide out with your Dad.'

'What's with the artillery?' She nodded at the guns. 'Don't tell me, you're hunting The Batman?'

The SWAT officers muttered under their breaths as they walked out of the server room. Barbara felt a wave of excited relief wash over her. She'd met him, helped him. She was basically part of the team now, right?

Over the coming months, she decided she would be part of his team. Surely, she figured, he couldn't keep the city safe by himself. Amazed at what she could buy online, she began work on her own suit. Kevlar plating, nomex-woven fire resistant fabric, and an assortment of communication tech arrived in a steady flow of parcels and packages. She rebuilt her home computer as a cover, praying that her dad wouldn't get curious enough to open a box. As it turned out, the hardware upgrade was well needed. She managed to hack the Batman's communications after tracking down the bridge she'd recommended under the GCPD. It was easy, by her standards, to set up a closed server and radio channel from which she could monitor his communications.

Whilst she built up her hardware, she also set about upgrading herself. It was okay to take up judo without raising suspicions, but throwing herself into kickboxing and taekwondo at the same time required "late work at the library". She also took to frequenting local gymnastics classes. She had been a star gymnast as a child, and aside from conditioning, it was just like riding a bike. In a few short months, she could move and jump and tumble as though she'd never stopped.

Before long, she was standing on a rooftop near the Bowery, looking across the city as the sun slowly set. She had modelled her armour on His, but added her own dramatic flair. The suit itself was grey, and she had stylised the bat symbol on her chest. She knew she wasn't as physically imposing as The Batman, so she'd gone for a slightly different tactic: shock and distraction. Her cape's inner lining was bright yellow, and the pouches on her belt were stocked full of smoke and flash pellets.

The radio she'd built into her cowl had two channels, one was GCPD communications, and the other was The Batman's line to his "Cave". Even if she wasn't talking to him, it would be important to know where he was. She didn't want to be mistaken for a bad guy, after all. Standing into the wind, she felt pretty damn heroic. Her cape caught the breeze and billowed majestically. She stepped forward off the building and threw a jump-line to a nearby fire-escape. The grappling head grabbed tight, and she swung down onto the lower building across the alley.

With perhaps the best timing she could have hoped for, sirens wailed past on the street below. Fire department. Barbara followed the trucks to the inferno. A thick, noxious cloud of grey-green smoke poured skyward as a cluster of apartments were engulfed by flames. She watched from a roof nearby, facing into the wind. She didn't have to hide. Everyone was watching the fire, not looking for capes on the roof. From the street they'd barely see her anyway: nothing but a billowing piece of black fabric painted orange by the glow of burning buildings. The fire crews were deploying ladders, clearly there were people trapped in the warehouse.

_Show time._

She let her left hand drop to her belt, quickly finding the miniature, gas-powered grappling gun. She briefly aimed and squeezed the trigger, sending a cable of nano-fibre in an arc toward the burning mess of buildings. It struck home and snapped tight. Batgirl, stepped forward off the edge of the building and swung down into the burning building.

Barbara entered feet first through a window on the 5th floor. She found her feet in the hallway and blinked away tears as the smoke burned her eyes. She quickly set her rebreather to her mouth, but the heat still made it hard to inhale. A door to her left flew open, and a man ran into the hallway, gun raised. Barbara spun into him, lifting the gun from his hands and throwing it behind her. It skittered down the hall, out of reach. She spun again, landing a savage kick to the man's torso.

He kept his feet and blindly at the smoke. She pushed him backwards and pinned him against the wall with her forearm, his legs kicking uselessly at the ground.

'What the hell are you doing? You've gotta get out of here!' Batgirl yelled over the noise of the fire.

'Like hell!' He shouted back. 'I'll make sure she burns, even if I go too!'

She thumbed the concealed switch near her earpiece. The speaker came alive with static for a second, and then voices. A police sergeant mumbled the street name into his radio, and confirmed that the rescue crews couldn't get up the stairs from the third floor.

She drove her forehead into his face, and the thug fell unconscious. Barbara dragged him back to the window she'd come through and dropped him unceremoniously onto the fire escape. She ran through the door into the apartment he'd come from. She could hear banging. Screams.

She followed the noise to a closet, barricaded shut behind a table. She kicked the table aside and threw the door open. A woman fell out, her face streaked with tears.

'Thank god! Help me!' she rasped.

'I'm going to get you out of here! Come on!' Barbara yelled as helped the woman to her feet.

The woman leaned on her as they made their way back to the fire escape. Barbara took hold of her grappling gun and leaned off the edge.

'Hold on.' Barbara yelled. The woman held tight to her shoulders as she let the grappling hook's line play out. As Barbara lowered the woman to the ground a fireman spotted them. She released her hook from the building and dashed down an alley away from the scene.

The adrenaline rush was intense; she felt invincible.

By 2am, she'd caught two muggers, and even managed to stop one before he started to run. She perched herself on a gargoyle about midway up Wonder Tower, the giant spire that marked the heart of Burnley. It was raining now, but she still felt fresh. Of course, she knew that she wouldn't feel quite so good in the morning. The second mugger had landed a solid punch to her ribs, and whilst the armour had helped, there'd be bruising.

_Time to call it a night._

Moving around the city had become easier than she'd thought. With her jump-line and grappling hook, swinging building to building was rather simple, and her gymnastic training had not gone to waste. As she was crossing the roofs above Miagani Island, she saw something, a flash in the corner of her eye. Red?

She stopped running, and turned on the spot. She scanned the roof for a second, but it was gone. She turned back, ready to continue home and saw Him. The Batman was standing a few feet from her, like he'd materialised out of nothing. He looked less than human this time, there was no blood, or sweat. Just silent darkness. He was still, not even seeming to breathe.

'Who are you, and what the hell do you think you're doing?' His voice was a growl, harsh and angry.

She pulled her cowl back off her face, and stared back at him. 'You remember? I helped you in the GCPD last Christmas?'

'Barbara? Does your father know you're out this late?'

She took a long, slow breath. Of course her father didn't know. He'd said that to get to her, to make her feel like a child. She was seventeen, and tonight had damn well proven that she could handle herself.

'I don't know what you think you're doing, Miss Gordon, but you need to stop. This city is dangerous after dark.' At least the aggression was gone from his voice; the growl was now a harsh whisper.

'I know it's dangerous, that's why I'm out here, helping people. I want to join you.' It hadn't sounded quite so lame in her head.

'You can't. It's too dangerous for-'

'A Girl?' She matched his stare, trying not to let any weakness show.

'Someone who hasn't been properly trained.'

'And being a girl probably won't help, either.' This voice came from somewhere else, making Barbara's blood boil. It was younger, and more spoken than growled. She looked to her left, and saw him. The kid might have been fifteen if he was lucky. A domino mask covered his face, and a black cape fell from his shoulders, revealing a bright yellow underside. Under the cape, a red, armoured tunic, green tights, black gloves and high, black boots. 'Let's just take her in like the other costumed loons.'

Barbara smiled to herself, wondering if the kid would ever appreciate the irony of what he'd said.

'I suppose he's "been properly trained"? What is he, like, twelve?'

As if to prove her point, he poked his tongue out at her.

'Robin is my partner.' As the armoured figure spoke, the kid smiled a goofy, proud smile. 'He's been training for months, and while he still has a lot to learn, I am confident in his abilities. I can trust him. I can't trust you. I don't know you.'

'Okay, but here's the thing. I'm going to keep doing this. And the only way you can stop me is to arrest me.'

Without giving him a second to berate her some more, she ran to the edge of the building and threw herself into the night. She was blocks away before she stopped running. She drank in some deep breaths, and tried to compose herself. She'd met The Batman before. She'd helped him. He was meant to let her be his partner. She wiped a tear from her cheek, and continued home. She slipped into her bedroom through an unlocked window, and quickly stowed her suit in a box under her bed.

Curled up, safe and warm, she made a silent vow to herself.

Batgirl would fly again, with or without Him.


End file.
